


Accessory

by veleda_k



Category: White Collar
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-09
Updated: 2012-07-09
Packaged: 2017-11-09 12:36:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/455523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veleda_k/pseuds/veleda_k
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Even years later, Sara couldn't explain why she did it. Maybe it was the risk, or the the thrill. Maybe she had been testing him. Maybe she had been testing herself. Or maybe she had simply been tired of being good instead of happy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Accessory

Diana pushed down her trepidation as she knocked on Agent Burke's office door. 

"Come in, Agent Berrigan," he said, opening the door. "Do you know why you're here?"

"I understand that you have an assignment for me."

"I do. And it's not an easy assignment."

"I like tough cases." Diana allowed herself a small smile.

"Good, because I want you on the Caffrey task force."

"Are you serious?" Internally, she flinched. That was no way to speak to her boss. "I mean," she said trying again, "I'm still a probie and the Caffrey case is a big deal." That was putting it mildly. Neal Caffrey was some crazy mix of Arsène Lupin and Cary Grant, with a dash of Catwoman thrown in. The FBI, Interpol, and a dozen other national law enforcement agencies had been chasing him for years with no success.

"You're smart and you're thorough. We need that. Even more importantly, I think I can trust you to stay sensible. I'm asking you to come on board because one of the team members needed to be reassigned. He joined Caffrey's fan club."

Diana let out soft burst of laughter, but stopped when she saw the expression on Burke's face. "Wait, do you mean he has a literal fan club?" 

"There's even a blog."

"And one of our agents joined it?"

Burke shook his head. "Caffrey has a certain appeal."

"Well, he doesn't appeal to me."

Burke smiled. "Good to hear. That means you'll get along with the unofficial member of our team, who is just coming through the door."

Diana turned around in time to see a statuesque redhead enter the room. Peter nodded at her. "Agent Berrigan, this is Sara Ellis. Sara, Agent Diana Berrigan."

"Pleased to meet you," Sara said briskly as she shook Diana hand. Her grip was firm, but she didn't try to break Diana's hand. So, Diana thought, not dainty but not overcompensating either. 

"Sara's an investigator with Sterling-Bosch. She's been on Caffrey's trail almost as long as we have."

"And with as much success, much as I hate to admit it," Sara interjected. Her eyes grew hard. "Some people think Caffrey's cute or funny. He's a showman, and he's good at getting people to like him. They think he's charming."

"And what do you think?" Diana ventured.

"I think he's a thief," Sara answered flatly. "And when people fall for his clever act, they're only seeing exactly what he wants them to." She narrowed her eyes. "And I think that when I get my hands on him, Neal Caffrey will never know what hit him."

Diana wasn't sure what to say to that. She knew that catching Caffrey had become many people's life's work, but Sara seemed to be taking it very personally. Apparently Peter wasn't either, because he rummaged through his desk a bit before pulling out a thick file folder. "Here are those files you asked for. Good luck with them."

Sara's cold expression faded. She smiled. "Thanks, Peter. I appreciate it."

"No problem. We're in this together."

"Absolutely." She waved at Diana. "A pleasure to meet you, Agent Berrigan." With a quick smile at Burke, she left the room.

It took Diana a moment to regain her equilibrium. "That was intense."

Burke laughed. "Intense is a good word. But she's not bad at all once you get to know her, and she's darn good at her job. And," he added, "she's the best ally we could hope to have, because no one hates Caffrey more than she does. No one."

***

Sara walked into her apartment with a relieved sigh. "Some day," she muttered as she slipped off her high-heels. She wanted a cup of tea and hot bath. That, however, could wait.

She spent a minute rooting around in her dresser until she found one of the many burner phones she kept stashed in her apartment. Useful in her line of work, she would have told anyone who asked. It let her make inquiries without the criminals getting a hold of her info and putting the pieces together. It was, strictly speaking, a true statement. She felt her breath speed up the slightest bit as she dialed a by now very familiar number.

"Hey there," said the voice on the other end. "I thought you might call."

"Is this bad time?"

"Not at all. Right now I'm relaxing after a hard day's work."

"That makes two of us. And notice how I'm not scoffing at the concept of you putting in a hard day's work."

"I did notice, and I'm touched. Did you have your meeting with the FBI?"

"I did."

"How did it go?"

Sara laughed a little. "I'm kicking myself. I forget to call you a sociopath."

"Poor Sara," Neal said with exaggerated sympathy. "There's always next time."

"I did say that when I get my hands on you, you won't know what hit you."

"Oh, that sounds like a promise. I don't suppose you have any idea _when_ you'll next be getting your hands on me?"

Sara sighed. "Soon, I hope. I've gotten a tip that those medieval manuscripts I've been chasing have shown up in Germany. If it checks out, I'll be in Berlin within the next few days. Could you make it?"

"Where you go, I will follow."

She snorted delicately. "Cut the crap, you fraud."

"It's not crap, it's romance." 

She could hear the laughter in his voice, and she smirked. "Whatever, Don Juan."

There was a brief silence. "I do miss you," he told her, his voice serious.

"I know," she replied softly. She almost said I miss you too, but that wasn't her style. Still, she was pretty sure he knew. "Let's plan for Berlin."

"Sure, Berlin. I'll talk to you later."

"Yeah, later." Sara hung up, put the phone back where it came from, and headed for the bathroom. She had really earned that hot bath.

***

It all started with that damn Raphael. Sara had heard of Neal Caffrey before, of course, but she had regarded him with nothing more than the same vague contempt she felt for all the crooks who kept her in business. Then he stole _Saint George and the Dragon_ , a painting insured by Sterling-Bosch. Sara was put on the case, which made Caffrey her problem.

Sara was proud of her abilities and justly so. She was smart, quick, cunning, and determined, and none of it did a damn bit of good when trying to catch Caffery. She liaised with the FBI, with Interpol, with any national or international law enforcement agency that would have her aboard. The only thing they actually accomplished was shared frustration.

Zurich changed things, or at least initiated the change. She was closer to Caffrey than she had ever been, pursuing him in an honest to god rooftop chase. She knew she should have called the proper authorities, should have alerted actual law enforcement. But her blood was racing, furious and competitive, and she wanted nothing more than to grind Caffrey's face into the dirt herself. 

Sara never had any idea how it might have ended. Caffrey probably would have slipped away, just like he had every other time. However, shoddy building maintenance made that question moot when the old and rusted fire escape railing that Sara was propped up against snapped. She scrabbled and grabbed another section of the railing, but she couldn't pull herself up, and the metal was still bending, and this was not the outfit she wanted to die in, and--

"Sara!" And Neal Caffrey was pulling her up, rubbing her back as she tried to get her panicked breathing back under control. He led her down the fire escape, careful about where he put his feet.

When they finally reached solid ground, Sara pushed him away angrily. "What the hell was that?" She managed to bite out.

Caffrey blinked. "You needed help. I helped you. At least, I think I did. Maybe this is all a trick to get my guard down. I wouldn't put it past you."

She gaped at him. "If you think this is some sort of trap, then why are you still here?"

He shrugged. "If this is a trap, then I can escape. You're good, but I'm better. And if it's not a trap, then I want to make sure you're okay."

Sara couldn't form a response to that. She wasn't sure which was leaving her more gobsmacked: the arrogance, which was infuriating and exasperating, or the concern, which was equally infuriating and completely unexpected. "This doesn't change anything," she insisted. "I don't owe you."

Caffrey quirked a smile. "Never said you did." He winked at her, then with a burst of speed ducked into a nearby alleyway. It took Sara a moment to go after him, and by the time she had followed him into the alley, he was gone. 

Many women would swoon at the memory of being rescued from death by a charming scoundrel. Sara, even years later, only felt vaguely irritated. Neal would sometimes laugh and call her ungrateful, but she knew he liked that about her, her complete refusal to feel indebted.

***

Two days later, Sara's tip checked out, and she booked herself the next flight to Berlin There she handily recovered a stack of valuable medieval manuscripts, thereby bolstering Sterling-Bosch's reputation and earning herself a hefty percentage. Also she got to smack a guy in the knee with her baton. She loved doing that.

Her fourth day in the city found her nursing a Bloody Mary at the hotel bar. "Is this seat taken?" She looked up to see Neal flashing his movie star smile.

She took a delicate sip of her drink. "I'm waiting for my boyfriend."

Neal sat down beside her and ordered a glass of Merlot before cocking an eyebrow. "Boyfriend, eh? What's he like?"

Sara pretended to think it over. "He's pretty enough," she allowed. "But he's not half as charming as he thinks he is."

Neal winced theatrically. "Ouch. Well, there must be something that you like about him."

Sara grinned. "It's starting to come back to me." She leaned in and kissed him lightly. "I was starting to think you wouldn't show."

"I didn't want to get in your way while you were working. Did the job go well?"

"Mm-hm. The manuscripts are being couriered back to the U.S., and I am taking a few perfectly reasonable personal days to celebrate."

"Absolutely reasonable," Neal agreed. "How would you like to celebrate? Dinner? Dancing?

Sara bent closer to him. "Actually, I thought we'd skip all that and head straight to my room."

Neal drained his glass. "Good plan."

The sex was fantastic. With Neal it usually was. He always talked the whole way through, flattering Sara, teasing her, turning her on, or just making her laugh. None of her past lovers had made her laugh in bed like Neal did. None of them had ever made her feel so wild and ridiculous. 

After they were both spent, Sara lay with her head against Neal's should and her arm across his chest. "We can go out tomorrow, if you'd like," he offered. "I can give you the insider's tour of Berlin's less-than-legal art scene."

"Sounds like fun," Sara murmured, even as she wondered if that was the wise thing for them to do. Was Neal safe in a city this size, with so many police and chances to be recognized? Was he safe anywhere? Sara told herself it was none of her business. She wasn't Neal's keeper, nor was she his protector. He didn't need her to be either of those things. For all the risks he took, he was the smartest man she had ever met. Surely he wouldn't be strolling around Berlin if it weren't safe. 

Neal frowned at her. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I don't want to talk about it."

Neal shook his head. "No, that's your 'I want to talk about it, but I think I shouldn't' expression."

Sara glared. "You catalog my expressions?"

"Of course. I'm a connoisseur of fine art, remember?"

She shoved him. "Be serious."

"I am." And he did look very serious at that moment. "Sara, tell me what's wrong."

"Fine. Berlin is a cosmopolitan European city. Half the law enforcement in the world knows you favor those. Is being here too much of a risk?" 

Neal kissed the top of her head. "You worry too much. _Everyone_ knows that Neal Caffrey is always in Southern Italy this time of year. And everyone in the city who needs to be paid off has been paid. It's under control."

Sara sighed. "I knew it would be like that." She closed her eyes in frustration. "I just don't want to be the reason you get caught."

"Hmm. Sometimes I think about how Burke might catch me," Neal said. "If it happened, I know it would be for a woman. If you were that woman," he continued in the same distant tone, "I think it would be all right."

"No." Sara's voice was cold. Neal looked at her in surprise. "You're not going to get caught for my sake, Neal. No one is going to use me against you. I will leave you before I let that happen." She couldn't entirely keep the tremor out of her voice. "So don't talk like that. It's not romantic, it's just stupid."

"Oh, don't... It's okay, Sara, I'm sorry." He pulled her close. "I'm sorry, you're right. I was being stupid. I'll be--"

"Don't say you'll be careful, because we both know you won't be."

He kissed her gently. "I'll be as careful as I know how to be. It's all I can do."

"It's all I can ask," she whispered.

***

The phone calls had started a week after Zurich. Caffrey would call her casually, just to chat. The first few times, she'd hung up on him immediately. When that failed to stop him from calling, she tried to use the conversations to her advantage. She asked leading questions, trying to ascertain where he might be and what he might be planning. It never worked. Caffrey just laughed and changed the subject.

Sara was never sure exactly when it happened, but slowly she stopped attempting to pry information out of Caffrey, and the conversations became... conversations. Sara didn't have many close friends. There were old college classmates she emailed every now, and then and people from work she occasionally went out with, but very few people she could truly talk to. How Neal Caffrey, thief, liar, and fraud, became one of those few people, she didn't know. 

"I made an impressive catch today."

"Really? Do tell." She could hear the smile in his voice.

"Tackled a gem thief a hundred yards from Central Park. I tore my dress, but it was worth it for the look on his face."

"I wish I could have been there."

"Oh, I wish you had been there too. By which I mean I wish it had been your head I was acquainting with the sidewalk."

He laughed. "Yeah, I got the subtext. Sorry, Repo, I've got to go. I'll call you later."

"Until then, Caffrey."

When everything changed, the moment was so quick that Sara almost missed it. They were engaging in their usual verbal sparring, and at the very end of the conversation, Caffrey remarked how beautiful the Mediterranean looked from his window, and how he wished she could see it. It wasn't until after they had hung up that she realized that he had given her a clue about his location for the first time ever. There was no way he would make a mistake like that. It had to be intentional. Sara's first thought was that it was a trick, a ploy to make her look stupid. She'd put all of her resources into searching along the Mediterranean, and he'd be sipping cocoa in the Alps. But Caffrey didn't play that way with her. He wouldn't go out of his way to make her look bad. 

Over the next few weeks, he let more information slip. Never anything big. The food, the weather, conversations he'd overhead, little things, but still things Sara could use. But she never did, and she couldn't explain her behavior anymore than she could explain his. 

"Why are you telling me all this?" she finally asked one night. "I could use this information against you."

"I guess I trust you," he answered easily.

Sara scoffed. "Yeah, right."

"I'm serious! I do. I like talking to you. I like you, Sara. I don't think you'll use what I'm telling you against me, but if you do, that's okay. I'm not going to get caught, not with what I've given you, but it's all right if you try. Do you remember what you said in Zurich? That you don't owe me? That's still true. I talk to you because I like it. What you do is up to you."

It took Sara several moments to find her voice. "We're just two people talking. What we talk about is nobody's business but ours."

"Thank you. I mean that. Goodbye, Sara."

"Goodbye, Neal." She hung up and looked at the phone. Neal. She had called him Neal, not Caffrey. Shit. "I'm going to catch you," she whispered and tried to ignore how much it felt like the other way around.

After that, it was obvious that things couldn't stay as they had been. Sooner or later, something had to break. What Sara didn't expect was that she would be the one to break it. They were talking like they always did when Sara went silent. Even years later, Sara couldn't explain what she did next. Every time she thought about it, she came up with a different explanation. Maybe it was the risk, or the the thrill. Maybe she had been testing him. Maybe she had been testing herself, her own limits. But she suspected none of those were quite right. Maybe she had simply been tired of being good instead of happy. "Are you familiar with Sir Alfred Whitehead's jade collection? The Spring and Autumn pieces?"

"Yes." There was a wary note in his voice.

"They're being moved on the 8th, not the 12th. They leaked false information to throw off thieves."

There was a long pause. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I want to. What you do with it is up to you." She felt strange echoing his words.

"All right. It might be a while before I get in touch again."

"I thought it might be. Until then."

"Until then."

Sara took a deep breath after hanging up. What had she just done?

True to his word, Neal stopped calling. It left Sara feeling strangely lonely. Somehow a reckless international art thief had become the closest thing she had to a best friend. 

Three weeks later, two things happened. First, her boss woke her in the middle of the night, wailing that Sir Alfred's Spring and Autumn jade had been stolen. Sara made sure to sound as appropriately horrified as she could at 3:00 AM and promised to get right on it. Second, she received a card in the mail. She ran her fingers over the heavy, cream colored paper then flipped it open to find the words _Thank you_ , written in elegant, flowing calligraphy. She checked the envelope for a postmark and didn't find one. Hand delivered then. Feeling a little daring, Sara placed the card on the mantle. She could easily explain it if anyone saw it. She wondered if it was silly to feel this excited. She hadn't been anywhere near the actual heist. Still, Neal clearly appreciated her contribution. Pouring herself a glass of the champagne she kept for special occasions, she toasted to her absent partner. "You're welcome," she muttered, and if she felt inordinately giddy, then surely it was the champagne going to her head.

***

For a couple of months after Berlin Sara hardly heard from Neal. It didn't worry her; it was normal. Any communication ran the risk of being traced or intercepted, and neither of them could afford to be linked to the other. So, she wasn't surprised when all she got were a few cryptic emails from an anonymous email address telling her not to call.

Sometimes Sara wondered what it would be like to have a normal relationship with someone she could see every day, who had a job and an apartment in the city. Someone who wasn't the FBI's most wanted. She turned the idea over in her head a few times before discarding it. She liked Neal just as he was. She loved the risk, the adventure, and all the other things she could never have with a man who had a nine to five job. She and Neal had a relationship on their terms, and that was exactly how she wanted it. 

At other times she pondered a different scenario: what if she joined him? What if she gave up her job and her life, and became Sara Ellis, globe trotting art thief? When she was worried or lonely, she imagined being beside him, and sometimes when they were in bed together she wondered what it would be like to have that every night. Ultimately, however, she rejected that idea just like she did the idea of an ordinary life. She liked her job, and she liked New York. She loved Neal, she could admit that if she had to, but he wasn't her whole world. Neither of them would want him to be. 

She kept herself busy during those months of no communication. The world never ran out of criminals, and as long as some of those criminals were deluded enough to think they could outrun or outwit her, she would never be bored.

It was on a Sunday that she got the call from Peter. The timing wasn't unusual, Peter was a workaholic. The call, on the other hand, definitely was.

"Hi, Sara. I hope this isn't a bad time."

"No, not at all. What can I do for you?"

"We've got the final results on the new Monet."

She sucked in her breath. It wasn't every day that a previously unknown painting by a famous artist was unearthed, especially not by someone like Monet. It had caused quite a furor in the art world, and the clamor surrounding its authentication had been huge. "Is it real?"

"Nine of the ten authenticators declared it genuine. Dr. Clark is the only dissenting opinion, and he's considered all but obsolete in the art world. No one will attach much importance to his opinions, not when De Luca and Ackerman are both swearing by their reputations that it's real."

"Impressive news, but why are you calling me? The painting's not insured by Sterling-Bosch."

"I know. I'm not calling you because you're Sterling-Bosch. I'm calling you because this is a newly discovered painting by a French Impressionist."

Sara understood. "You think Caffrey's going to go after it."

"He loves the Impressionists, and I don't think he could resist something with this much press."

"I think you're right. What do you want from me?"

"I'd like you to consult on security. We'd compensate you, of course."

"I appreciate that. But for the chance to catch Caffrey, I'd pay you."

Peter chuckled. "This could be it for us, Sara. This could be our day."

"Here's hoping. I'll see you tomorrow. Does 7:00 AM work?"

"Works perfectly. I'll see you then."

Sara hung up then headed to the nearest public library, where she sent a brief message to one of Neal's untraceable email accounts: _Call me_ , along with a phone number. She had barely stepped back into her apartment when one of her burner phones rang. She pulled it out of the bottom drawer of her desk, underneath the paperclips and post-it notes. "Hi."

"Hey there, are you okay?" Neal's voice was laced with worry.

"I'm fine. Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. Is it safe to talk? Did I take you away from anything important?"

"Not at all. I've just been wrapping up. Actually, I was going to call you tomorrow." He laughed a little. "So, now we've established that neither of us is in any immediate danger, what did you want to talk about?"

"There's been a decision made about the basement Monet." 

"I know. They're saying it's real."

Sara sighed. "Of course you knew. You undoubtedly knew days before I did." She huffed. "See if I ever bring you news again." She paused. "Wait, it is real, right?"

"How would I know anything about that?" His tone was so full of exaggerated innocence that Sara scowled. Then he laughed. "I can easily imagine the face you're making. No, it's not one of mine. And I fully believe it's real."

Which meant he was planning to steal it. Peter was right; there was no way Neal would be able to resist. "Peter's going to be waiting."

"And how is my favorite FBI agent?"

"Energized. He thinks this could be the time they catch you."

"You'll have to take him out for drinks afterward, to console him."

Sara pressed her fingers to her temple. "I suppose there's no chance of getting you to take this seriously."

"I'm always serious. Or is it never? Either way, I know what I'm doing."

"Sure you do. Keep me informed."

"Promise. Bye."

"Bye." Sara smiled and shook her head. What was worse, that this man was driving her insane, or that she was enjoying the ride?

She showed up at the FBI office bright and early to find Peter waiting for her. "Good morning. I've got us coffee and case files," he said.

"My favorite things," Sara said, flashing a smile. "What do we have?"

"The painting's owner, Margaret Blanchard, has agreed to sell the painting to the Louvre. However, she's a New Yorker and wants to display it in her gallery for one night. Caffrey could make his move at any point: when it's being transferred to the gallery, before the exhibition, when it's being transferred to the museum. Hell, I haven't ruled out the possibility that her might try to grab it right in the middle of the exhibition. He's crazy like that."

Sara nodded. "We need to prepare for any of those possibilities. Our advantage this time is that we know he's coming. Not for certain, granted, but I agree with you, I can't see him missing this." 

"I'll be going over every single file we have on Caffrey, see if there's anything that might help me figure out his next move. I'd invite you to join me, but I know you have your own work to do."

"Give me a stack. It'll be something to do at lunch."

"I appreciate this. It's our big chance."

"I know. I'll let you know if I think of anything."

Sara did peruse the files during lunch. They didn't contain anything she didn't already know, but it was interesting to see Neal through someone else's eyes, someone trying to create a complete portrait with only bits and pieces of information.

Sara put the files aside to focus on her actual job. It was all paperwork, the clean up from past victories. Sara loved the rush that came with winning, but it was inevitably replaced by tedium and red tape. She didn't resent that part of her job, though. It was vital and no less a part of the process than running down criminals.

She wondered if Neal ever felt this way, if there were i's to dot and t's to cross after a successful heist. Did he find it boring to negotiate with fences and buyers? Did the priceless treasures he stole lose their allure once he possessed them? Or was Neal the kind of bastard who managed to have fun all the time? Probably the last one. She got back to work, swearing to chew Neal out the next time they talked for being so damn cheerful. 

Events progressed quickly. Everyone devoted to protecting the Monet wanted to get it out the country as quickly as possible. It would be safest at the Louvre, and even better, it would no longer be their problem. That meant trying to balance speed with caution when planning the exhibition. Ms. Blanchard and her employees were helpful and agreeable, unlike many clients Sara had worked with over the years, who fought law enforcement and insurance companies every step of the way, as if perfectly reasonable security measures were put in place solely to torment them. But Ms. Blanchard knew what a treasure she had, and she wasn't the type to take chances. 

Between her job and consulting on the Monet's security, Sara was exhausted, but it was the good kind of exhaustion, the kind she felt when she was being pushed to her limit. She was happiest when she was being challenged, and she hadn't been challenged like this in a long time.

She spoke with Neal rarely. He was as busy as she was, no doubt for closely connected reasons. It was fun, she realized, being on opposite sides again. She really was putting her all into the gallery's security. She liked Peter, and he deserved no less than her best. Besides, Neal loved a challenge as much as she did. It wouldn't be any fun if it were too easy. But mostly it wasn't for either Peter or Neal. It was for her. She wanted to do her best, so she would.

As the day of the exhibition approached, everyone was walking on eggshells, and Sara had to hide the fact that she was doubly nervous. She had no idea what Neal was planning, and although she would never show it, the tension was getting to her. When Peter turned to her and said, "I'm beginning to wish he'd just make his move," he couldn't possibly know how much she agreed with him.

She got the call the morning of the event. Peter said very little, telling her to come down right away. When she arrived at the gallery, she found a gaggle of FBI agents and gallery employees standing around an empty crate. "Workers loaded the painting into that crate an hour ago," Peter informed her. "When they arrived and went to unload the truck, this is what they found. Caffrey managed to get onto the moving truck, grab the painting, and make his escape, all without being noticed.

"Wow."

"I know." He laughed exasperatedly and ran his hand over his face. "The crate was empty except for these." He held up two cards made from familiar cream colored paper. One was addressed to Peter, the other to her. "They'll be going into evidence, but I thought I'd give you the chance to read yours." He handed her a pair of latex gloves, which she put on before taking the card.

"What does it say?"

He shrugged. "I didn't read it. It's addressed to you."

Sara opened the card. _Impressive work, Ms. Ellis. You deserve a vacation._ She'd been hoping for something a little more romantic, not that she'd ever tell Neal that. But, the message was clear. She handed the card back to Peter. She longed to ask what his card said, but stopped herself. The fact that he had refused to read hers clearly indicated that he saw it as something private, even if they were going to be logged into evidence. 

Peter sighed. "You don't have to stick around here. There's nothing for you to do, and I know you have a job to get back to." He grimaced. "Hopefully so do I. I'm going to have a hell of time explaining this to Hughes."

Sara's heart clenched. Most of the time she navigated her double life with ease. But then there were moments like this, seeing one of her few true friends at risk due to something Neal had done, something she had made no effort to stop. She rested her hand on Peter's shoulder. "Hughes will understand. This didn't happen on your watch. It was the gallery's plan and the gallery's people." She shrugged. "Besides, it's Caffrey. If the FBI fired someone every time he pulled a heist, you wouldn't have any agents left."

Peter nodded and smiled a little. "I'll be sure to tell Hughes that."

Sara gave his shoulder a quick squeeze before dropping her hand. "Call me to tell me how it goes."

When he finally did call just as she was about to leave the office later that evening, Sara felt a rush of relief. While Peter had received a dressing down from Hughes, his job wasn't in jeopardy. Even the lecture had been more scripted than anything else, Peter noted. "You're right," he said with resignation. "It's Caffrey. He's like a damn act of God." Sara was glad he couldn't see her smile. 

At home, with a glass of wine and Thai take-away, Sara asked herself, not for the first time, how all this had become her life. Everyone knew that Sara Ellis was a sensible woman. Responsible and levelheaded, head out of the clouds and feet on the ground. And yet here she was. She knew Peter could lose his job. Hell, she could lose her job. She could go to prison. But she couldn't make herself really believe it. If nothing else, she couldn't imagine Neal would let Peter lose his job. Neal liked Peter, as odd as that seemed, and often asked about him. No doubt Neal had an elaborate and thrilling plan in reserve should the problem ever arise. Nor did she believe that Neal would ever stand by and let her go to prison. She had too much faith in her lying, cheating, criminal boyfriend to believe that. 

Once, Sara had been a sensible woman. Now she picked at her pad se lew, wondering if she should give Neal time to get out of the country before she called.

***

A month after the jade heist, Sara received an email. _Cibrèo, Florence. The 30th, 7:00 PM. Don't be late, the reservations weren't easy to get._ She very, very briefly thought about ignoring the message, but even as she considered it, she knew it wasn't an option. She had never been the type to back down. She wrangled the vacation time out of her boss and felt only slightly idiotic as she booked a flight based on the whims of an insufferable, thieving lunatic.

Sara was almost hoping for something to go wrong: a missed connection, a bomb hoax, the hotel losing her reservation—anything that could be taken as an ill omen and convince her that the trip was a mistake. Unfortunately, it was quite possibly the smoothest travel experience she had ever had, leaving her in a hotel room in Florence, trying to decide what to wear. Sara had keen fashion sense, but she wasn't sure how to dress when meeting a thief she'd spent years chasing, only to accidentally become friends with him, culminating in slipping him confidential information, making her an accomplice. _Vogue_ never addressed that.

She growled in frustration and pulled yet another dress off the hanger. The worst part was that she was a grown women, not a teenage girl. No, she corrected herself, the worst part was that she was going to all this trouble for Neal Caffrey, who wasn't worth it, even if he was charming, handsome, witty, intelligent, and—despite her best judgment—her friend. Screwing up her resolve, she grabbed her favorite skirt and blouse ensemble. It would have to do.

Cibrèo was as crowded as she expected it to be, and Neal wasn't in view. The head waiter approached and smiled pleasantly. About to open her mouth, Sara realized she didn't know what name Neal was using.

"You must be here for George," the head waiter said smoothly, in accented but clear English. "Please, this way." 

As she was led to his table, Neal stood and pulled out her chair. She arched her eyebrows as she sat down. "I'm perfectly capable of doing that myself."

"Obviously," Neal agreed easily. "But you're a generous and patient women, so you let me have my fun."

She smirked. "To chivalry," she toasted, raising her water glass. 

A waiter arrived, bringing and wine and a variety of tasting plates. Sara sipped her wine. "Oh, this is excellent."

"Glad to hear it. Our tastes must be similar." 

They fell silent. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence. Sara knew she should be cautious, guarded, but sitting in a restaurant with Neal felt like the most natural thing in the world. 

"You surprised me," he said, breaking the silence. "That phone call. What you said."

She tossed her head a little. "What, do you think you're the only one who gets to take risks?"

He shook his head, smiling. "You like to keep me guessing, don't you?"

"Me?" He thought _she_ was the confusing one? "You're the international man of mystery."

He laughed quietly. "I suppose so," he conceded. He deftly turned the conversation toward Sara's job and she allowed the subject change. She enjoyed talking about her job. She wasn't sure why Neal was so eager to hear about her catching art thieves, but his interest seemed real. 

The waiter arrived again to explain the night's menu. Neal's Italian was flawless, while Sara's was a bit rusty, but she had no problem following the conversation. "Try the chicken and ricotta meatballs," Neal advised, and Sara obliged. 

The conversation moved past Sara's job and into other topics. 

"Favorite Hitchcock move?" Sara asked. "And _Don't_ say _Say to Catch a Thief_ ".

" _Notorious_. What about yours?"

" _To Catch a Thief_."

"Hey!"

"I only said you couldn't pick it. How about your favorite Bogart movie?"

"Has to be _Casablanca_. You?"

" _The Big Sleep_. When I was a teenager, I wanted to grow up to be Lauren Bacall."

"I can believe that."

They talked idly through two courses. Just when Sara thought they were through, the waiter brought them two pieces of cheesecake and a dessert wine. "When did you order this?" she asked Neal.

"I didn't."

Taking the first excellent bite of cheesecake, Sara eyed him. "How in the world do you manage to get such personal attention at Cibrèo during the dinner hour?"

"They like me here, and I'm something of a people person. It's nothing, really." 

She rolled her eyes. "This is what I get for listening to an insufferable, thieving lunatic."

He thought that over. "Is that 'insufferable, thieving lunatic' in a good way or a bad way?"

She stared at him. "Is there a good way to be an insufferable, thieving lunatic?"

"You tell me." He winked. 

She glared. "I brought my baton through customs, you know."

He laughed and held up his hands. "I surrender." He looked around. "To answer your question seriously, yes, I know some of the people here, and they agreed to take special care of us tonight. It's a little flashy, I know. Tomorrow I'll take you to my favorite café for breakfast. It's much quieter. I'm usually the only non-local there." He shrugged. "I'm a showman. I wanted to impress you on our first date."

"Date?" The word felt strange in her mouth. A flash of doubt crossed Neal's face. It only lasted a second, but it was the first time Sara had seen him anything less than perfectly composed.

He laughed breezily. "Have I done the unforgivable and misread your intentions?" He dropped the easygoing expression. "I'm sorry, Sara. I hope I haven't made you uncomfortable."

"No," she assured him quickly. Internally, she kicked herself. Of course it was a date. "It's fine." She nodded. "It's definitely a date." Neal beamed. It wasn't like the smile she was used to, glossy, practiced, and perfect. It was softer, younger, and real. She smiled back, and if it was a little dopey, who around them would care?

After dinner, Neal asked if he could walk her back to her hotel and she agreed. The night was balmy and clear, and the two of them talked easily. Somewhere along the way she slipped her hand into his and the look on his face was worth the whole trip.

"Where are you staying?" she asked. "Anywhere near me?"

"No, some friends of mine have a place. I stay with them."

She scoffed good naturedly. "Of course. I should have known that you spend your time lounging around an Italian villa with your royal friends."

He bumped her shoulder. "They're not royal, and they don't have a villa. Not in the city, anyway," he added mischievously.

They stopped in front of Sara's hotel. "Meet you tomorrow morning for cappuccino and brioche?" A tremor of hope ran through his voice.

Sara kissed him. He tensed in surprise, then drew her close. Eventually she pulled away. "Pick me up at seven," she told him.

It was one of the best weeks of Sara's life. Neal was an enthusiastic host and a knowledgeable tour guide. He loved the city, and Sara found herself loving it through his eyes. They talked about art, travel, past lovers, and the best way to identify a forged Picasso. They didn't talk about the future or the questions that were so obviously weighing on both their minds.

The night before she left, they made love for hours, more slowly and gently than they had before. For a long time afterward they held each other in silence. Finally, Neal spoke. "This can be the end of it, if you want."

Sara looked at him blearily. "What?"

"You can go back to your life and forget this ever happened."

She propped herself up. "Why would I want to do that?"

There was a dangerous edge to her tone, but Neal continued. "This week has been wonderful. Better than wonderful. But tomorrow you're going home, back to your life. You helped me commit a crime, Sara, and if you keep going like this, you'll be an accessory to many more. I don't want to drag you into anything you're not ready for."

"This isn't like you, acting so responsibly."

He frowned. "It's okay for me to be careless with my safety. I've accepted all the risks."

She sighed. "Listen carefully, you idiot: I know the risks too. I'm an adult, and I can make my own choices. If I choose you, that's my business."

He kissed her joyfully. "You're brilliant."

His voice and face were so full of affection and wonder that she had to avert her eyes. "I don't like that term anyway," she said casually.

"Which term?"

"Accessory. It makes me sound like an afterthought, like I'm one of your hats."

He put on a mock puzzled expression. "Are you asking me to choose between you and my hats?"

She narrowed her eyes. "You would choose me, right?"

"Oh, yes, definitely, absolutely," he answered far too quickly. 

She did the mature thing and hit him with a pillow. That resulted in a pillow/tickle fight that left both of them breathless with laughter. Getting his breath back, Neal pulled Sara close. "You're never an afterthought," he promised.

Sara had been home a few days when she was woken up in the middle of the night by a knock on her door. She tensed. She couldn't think of anyone who would show up unannounced at one in the morning. At least, no one she wanted to see. She eased her gun out from under her pillow and kept it behind her back as she walked over to the door. She looked out the peephole to see a short bald man wearing glasses and carrying a black suitcase. He knocked again loudly, and after thinking about it, she opened the door without undoing the chain.

"You must be the insurance women," he said crisply. "This will be over much faster if you let me in."

Sara gaped. "Let you in? I have no idea who you are. It's one in the morning!"

The man nodded. "Suspicion, good. There might be hope for you yet. Neal sent me."

"He sent me an obnoxious bald man? I would have settled for flowers."

"Ha ha. Call him if you want."

Sara shut the door, found her phone, and dialed. Neal answered on the first ring. "Do you want to explain why there's a man at my door, claiming that you sent him?" she demanded. 

"Oh, that's Mozzie," replied Neal, far too cheerfully for 1:00 AM. (Of course it wasn't 1:00 AM wherever he was, but it was the principle of the thing.) "I asked him to help you with security."

"Security? I have security."

"Not the kind of security you need. He'll sweep your place for bugs and the like. Sara, if you want to continue this, these are the precautions you need to take, for your safety and mine."

"Right," she said, feeling a bit dazed. Then she cleared her throat and focused. "I understand."

"If you're not sure--"

"No. No, it's fine. I was just surprised." She paused. "Did you tell him to show up now?"

He laughed a little. "No, that's all Mozzie. He's eccentric, but he knows his stuff." His voice went a little softer. "And he's my best friend."

Sara grinned wryly. "Well, any friend of yours is someone I will reluctantly allow in my apartment. Is he going to rob me?"

"I've asked him very nicely not to." There was a beat. "You might want to keep an eye on him."

"All that _and_ he looks at me like I've got a communicable disease."

"He is a germophobe. Maybe he thinks you do."

"Fantastic." She huffed. "I'd better go let him in. I--" she faltered. "It was nice talking to you."

"You too."

Sara went back and opened the door. Mozzie looked her peevishly. "Sure, I'll just wait here until you two are done making kissy faces at each other."

"I have a gun and a baton," she informed him sweetly. "Don't make me use either of them."

Grumbling under his breath, Mozzie entered. Sara watched him closely. She wasn't sure what she expected him to do--grab a vase and run off with it? But she felt better keeping him in sight. He set down his suitcase and pulled out several complicated looking instruments. Some Sara recognized. Sterling-Bosch gave her access to plenty of impressive toys. Others were unfamiliar. Noticing her curious gaze, Mozzie patted the case proudly. "Russian surplus," he declared. 

The two of them went through her apartment top to bottom. Finally, Mozzie nodded in satisfaction. "You're clean. For now," he added ominously. He handed her a few pieces of equipment. "These should be enough to run basic checks. I recommend daily."

"You're just giving these to me?" Sara asked skeptically. "What do you want for them?"

Mozzie waved the question away. "Neal's taken care of it. And so, insurance woman, here I take my leave." 

Sara glowered. "I have a name."

"No names!" He raised his hands. "It's safer if we remain anonymous."

"Whatever you say, Mozzie." She saw his aghast look. "Neal told me."

Mozzie scowled. "He has no sense of subtlety."

The corners of her mouth twitched. "Of course not, he's Neal."

Mozzie's expression lightened slightly. "You _might_ be acceptable," he conceded. 

"Glad to hear it. I'll see you out."

Alone in her now assuredly bug free apartment, Sara rubbed her temples. This hadn't been what she envisioned when she kissed Neal that first time. Apparently exotic European getaways came with strange little paranoid friends.

Her phone rang. "I hope Mozzie wasn't too... Mozzie," Neal said when she picked up. 

"Earlier this morning I made a remark about you getting me flowers," Sara replied. "You can forget that. I don't want flowers any longer. You owe me jewelry.

"That bad?"

He sounded genuinely concerned, so Sara softened her tone. "We both came out of it in one piece, so I suppose it could have been worse. And now I have some lovely Russian surplus spy gear."

"Wow, I get you such a wonderful present and you still want jewelry on top of that?"

"Absolutely."

"Okay then," Neal said. "I live to please."

After they said their goodbyes, Sara looked around. No, this wasn't what she envisioned. But she wouldn't trade it for anything.

***

After the Monet heist, Sara didn't expect Neal to get in touch with her for at least a month, so she was surprised to come home two weeks later to find a set a directions lying on her table. She noted with amusement that they were written in her own handwriting.

The directions led her to a storage unit. That, combined with the Byzantine knocking instructions (three loud, four soft, another loud, then two more soft), meant that she wasn't surprised when Mozzie opened the door. "Oh good," he said. "You're here."

Sara blinked. Mozzie no longer viewed her with quite the same mistrust, but he had never been particularly glad to see her. Worry gripped her. "Is something wrong with Neal?"

"Ha!" Mozzie threw up his hands. "See if you can talk some sense into him."

Sara stepped inside and found Neal lounging on a couch in the corner. He waved at her. "Hey there. Sorry to drag you out like this. Mozzie insisted."

She sat down beside him. "Apparently I'm supposed to talk sense into you. What have you done to upset him this time?"

"I'm going to give back the painting."

She certainly hadn't expected that. "Why?"

"I can't find a satisfactory buyer."

"No one will meet your price?" She found that hard to believe. There had to be some billionaire out there willing to pay the black market price for a lost Monet.

He shook his head. "That's not it. The problem is that none of them want it for the right reasons. They don't care about the art. They just want something rare and impressive. I've got two oil barons in a bidding war, and the only thing they care about is making sure the other guy doesn't get it. And then there's the mob boss who keeps calling it a Manet." He looked at her ruefully. "I can't give it to any of these people."

Most people assumed, given that he was a thief, a forger, and an all-around rogue, that Neal had no morals. Indeed, Sara had once thought that. But now she knew that while Neal's morals could be bizarre and wildly different from anyone else's, he did have them. "I see your problem," she told him dryly. "Why not keep it?"

He sighed. "I thought of that. It's tempting. But I'd have to stick in a cache. I'd hardly ever get to see it. It would just sit there collecting dust."

Sara looked at him sharply. "Like my Raphael?"

He exhaled dramatically. "You are never going to let that go, are you?"

"Never. But we're discussing your new Monet, not my Raphael."

"Right. Since I don't want to sell it, and there's little point in keeping it, I might as well return it." His eyes glinted. "I've stolen plenty of stuff, but I've never returned anything before."

Understanding dawned. "This is about the challenge, isn't it? Trying something new."

He grinned sheepishly, as if she'd caught him at something. "Not entirely, but yes."

She tried to look less amused than she was. "What are you planning?"

"Oh no. This time, I'm going to let you be surprised," he teased. 

She nudged him with her foot. "You seem to think that I like your surprises."

He raises his eyebrows. "That's _exactly_ what I think."

She smirked and stood. "If you're so confident, I'd better let you get back to planning this fantastic surprise." She laid her hand on his shoulder and let it linger briefly. "Take care of yourself, Neal." 

He placed his hand over hers. "Always."

Mozzie confronted her on her way out. "You didn't even try to talk him out of it!"

Sara shrugged. "It's Neal. If he gets an idea in his head, there's little use trying to talk him out of it. Besides, it's not as if either of you needs the money."

Mozzie glowered. "That's not the point." He cradled his head in his hands, and seemed only a few seconds away from tearing out what little hair he had left. "He's going to give me an aneurysm. Or a heart attack. Or an ulcer. I can feel the ulcer forming as we speak."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Sara said absently. Once Mozzie started ranting like that there was nothing for it. "I'll see you later, Moz," she told him as she left, though she wasn't sure if he noticed. 

Work kept Sara too busy to wonder much about whatever Neal had planned. Truly, she had almost forgotten about it until she got the call from Peter nearly two months later. "Come to my office," he said. "You're going to want to see this." She couldn't get anything more out of him, so she headed over to the FBI office, not sure what to expect.

When she got there, she found a number of agents milling about, their expressions ranging from furious to frustrated to amused. On Peter's face she saw all three, and when she looked into his office, she could see why. There, leaning against Peter's desk, was the Monet, a jaunty little bow perched on the top of the frame. It took everything Sara had not to laugh out loud.

"It came with a card," Peter said tiredly.

"Of course it did," Sara replied as he handed it to her. Instead of the usual cream colored paper she was expecting, it was a cheerful, store bought birthday card. On the inside was Neal's graceful handwriting. _Yeah, I know it isn't your birthday, but I saw this and I thought of you. Do what you want with it, but I think it would look great in your living room. Love, NC._ Sara returned the card to Peter. "When we find him, I'll hold him down, and you can punch."

Peter let out a laugh. "I'll be content with slapping cuffs on him. Mostly content," he admitted. He shook his head. "There's nothing for you to do here. I just thought you'd want to see this."

"Oh, definitely." She kept her voice steely. "As always, keep me informed."

"Will do."

It wasn't until she was several blocks away from the building that Sara allowed herself to grin.

***

Several days later, Diana came into the office already ready to go home. The higher ups had decided to treat the return of the painting as a gain no matter how it had gotten there, but there were still a million and one problems to deal with. The media circus was barely contained, and they were constantly barraged with demands and complaints from the gallery, the museum, and the insurance company. Still Diana knew that it was all infinitely better than what they would be facing if the painting were still missing. The whole thing only confirmed that she had no idea what went on in Neal Caffrey's screwy brain.

She peered into Burke's office and saw him and Sara Ellis already in there. She rapped on the door and Peter waved her in. "Did I miss anything?" she asked.

"We were just going over entry and exit points," Burke explained. "We need to figure out how Caffrey did it. We _cannot_ let this happen again. Caffrey just wanted to poke us, but if he could get in, then so could someone with much more sinister motivations." He grimaced. "In a way, Caffrey did us a favor. Now that we know these weaknesses exist, we can fix them before someone does some real damage."

Diana mulled that over. "Do you think--" She stopped, unsure, then started again. "Do you think he considered that?"

She was worried that Burke would react badly to the idea, but he didn't even look surprised. "Do I think that Caffrey was intentionally trying to help?" He sighed. "Damned if I know. On the surface, it seems ridiculous., but knowing Caffrey..." he trailed off aimlessly. Sara snorted. He nodded at her. "You no doubt think I'm being stupid." He looked at Diana. "Sara doesn't think as well of Caffrey as I do."

"I don't think you're stupid," Sara corrected. "In fact I think it fits perfectly. If Caffrey ever was going to do a good deed, he'd manage to do it in the most annoying, least helpful way possible." 

Burke chuckled. "When you put it that way, it does make sense. I know you have your own work to do, so I'll let you go."

Sara nodded and gathered up her things. "If I think of anything, you'll be the first to know. Nice to see you again, Agent Berrigan."

After she left Diana turned to Burke. "Make any progress?"

"Yeah, we did. Sara's been a big help. I feel a bit guilty taking up so much of her time. She clocks in God only knows how many hours at Sterling-Bosch and then comes here to help us out."

"I don't think she minds. She seems really determined to catch Caffrey."

"She certainly is." Burke thought his next words over. "Sara's recovery rate is impressive, and you know I'm not easily impressed. Caffrey got away from her. That's rare enough, but he makes it worse because he keeps coming back, keeps dancing just out of her reach. He pushes her buttons intentionally. He does the same thing with me, but she takes it more personally." He frowned. "Sara lives for her work, and Caffrey's a constant part of that work. In a weird way he might be the most important man in her life." Diana made a strange noise, and he eyed her curiously. "What?"

"It's just the way you put that," she explained, a little hesitantly. "He teases her, she's always thinking of him. It makes it sound like there's... an attraction."

Burke looked faintly horrified. "Don't _ever_ let her hear you say that. She carries a weapon, you know. Besides, didn't I just say that Caffrey pulls the same stunts with me? You don't think I'm having an affair with Caffrey, do you?"

"No, sir," Diana said quickly, deciding that this wasn't the time to inform him of certain water cooler rumors.

Burke unrolled a building blueprint. "I shouldn't have shared all that with you anyway. Sara's personal life is none of our business."

"You're right." And he was. Diana knew she had no business gossiping about her colleagues. Anyway, the idea was completely absurd, which was undoubtedly for the best. Sara Ellis and Neal Caffrey? The rest of the world would never stand a chance.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for WC Pairings, for sheenianni. The prompt was, "Neal is a world renown art thief of Gordon Taylor level, Sara is his secret partner in crime and lover. Peter is trying to catch them."


End file.
